


Elsewhere

by agent85



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Anti-Will, Books, Canon Compliant, Discussion of Jemma/Will, Female Friendship, Gen, Missing Scene, Post-Hot Potato Soup, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-23 17:19:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10723779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent85/pseuds/agent85
Summary: After dealing with Radcliffe's LMD, Jemma finds that she can't sleep. It turns out that Daisy's in the same predicament, but for different reasons. What follows is a discussion of love, loss, and regret in which both women have a chance to finally talk about the things that have been weighing them down.[Missing scene set sometime after Hot Potato Soup]





	Elsewhere

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been made possible with the expert help of [recoveringrabbit](http://archiveofourown.org/users/recoveringrabbit/pseuds/recoveringrabbit), beta extraordinaire. :)

There's something magical about the base at night, when the only sounds are the humming of machines and the tune Jemma can't get out of her head. She doesn't even remember what it is tonight—some fragment of some song she probably heard over the speakers in the grocery store. Still, it's there, running around in circles, and she's hoping that humming the few bars she remembers will nudge the melody out of her skull.

But the song isn't why she's up—it's the stillness. There's a kind of rest that's better than sleep, and it's here, where her thoughts are not disrupted by Fitz's tossing and turning. (How he sleeps with his demons, she never knows.)

She pads into the kitchen and is surprised to see one lamp lit, casting a halo of light around someone buried in a book. At first, she's sure she's too tired to actually be seeing what she thinks she's seeing—she's never seen Daisy read for pleasure the whole time she's known her. But after a few squints, she's at least sure that it can't be anyone else. She doesn't want to disturb Daisy as much as she wants to gently announce her presence with her footsteps on the tile and the clink of the teapot. When the kettle is on the stove, she makes her way towards Daisy's couch and waits patiently for the pair of eyes to find her. 

"Everything alright?"

Daisy looks up at her, tilting her head to the side.

"I thought you'd be in your new place by now."

Jemma gives a knowing smile. "Well, they're still cleaning up the blood _someone_ left behind."

Daisy sucks in a breath. "Oh."

"It's alright," Jemma says. "It drove the competition away, at least. May I?" 

She gestures towards the couch, and Daisy answers by closing the book and sitting up, allowing Jemma to sit next to her. She puts her elbows on her knees and watches the book in her hand.

"You ever read this?"

It's not until Daisy holds up the cover that Jemma can actually see what it is: _The Giver_.

Jemma considers the question. "It was assigned reading in school," she admits, "but I was far more interested in my science textbooks."

Daisy smiles as she shakes her head, and Jemma braces for a friendly jab, but it doesn't come. Instead, Daisy's eyes go back to the book.

"If you could take a memory—any memory—and just . . . give it to someone else, would you? If you knew it wouldn't hurt them the way it hurts you?"

It's then that she sees the shimmer in Daisy's eyes, and she knows exactly what—or rather _whom_ —Daisy is up late thinking about. Jemma puts her arms around her by instinct, feeling a sense of relief when Daisy crumbles.

"I miss him, too," Jemma says, not much louder than a whisper. "Not in the same way, but . . . he was a good friend. I'm glad I knew him."

The truth is that Jemma misses him all the time. Fitz has always been a great ally to have in the lab, but it was always straightforward with Lincoln. Comfortable, but with a satisfying space between her world and his. The lab seems colder now without the warmth that always came from his smile.

"It's weird," Daisy says, "some days, I'm completely fine. And then it just hits me, and I get knocked off my feet. It's like it's starting all over again."

Jemma pulls her in tighter. "I know." She cringes. "Sorry, I mean, I couldn't possibly—"

"I know what you mean," Daisy assures her. "With, uh, with Will, and everything."

Jemma feels her mouth go dry, and she's so taken aback that it's a few seconds before she can say, "What?"

"Fitz told me what happened," Daisy says carefully, like she's not sure if she's allowed. "How Will sacrificed himself for you. I guess Hive destroys lives no matter what planet he’s on."

That's all Daisy says, but her eyes give everything away. Jemma's glad Fitz had someone to talk to, at least, but the things he must have said—she shudders to think of it, unwrapping her arms and leaning back.

"I didn't mean . . ." Jemma takes in a breath. "Will and Lincoln were very different. I was actually thinking of Fitz."

Realization sparks in Daisy's eyes. "Right. After Ward threw you in the ocean."

"Yes," Jemma says, nodding. "And when I . . . when I went to that planet. That was worse, I think. In Hydra, at least I had a mission, something to work towards, but over there I was just . . ."

"Trying to survive," Daisy offers. Jemma nods.

"Yeah." 

And Daisy's right, sometimes it just hits you. Sometimes, you feel the sand scour your skin and the death in your bones. She brushes away a tear and shakes her head. "Sorry. I didn't mean to make this about me, it's just—"

Daisy puts a hand up to stop her. "It's okay," she says. She looks down at the book still in her hand. "You said you wanted someone to talk to, and I don't really know what to say, so . . ."

Jemma gives her a quick smile, the kind that dies immediately while she drowns in her thoughts.

"It's just," she starts, "I thought I had to give up everyone, too. I thought I didn't have a choice. So I understand that part of it, at least. About losing hope, and then . . . finding it again, somehow. In the worst way possible. It's like . . . like it hurts so much that you just stop being a person, and then you have to learn how to be a person again."

It's the best way that she can explain it, but her words have always been clumsy. She thinks of that time and feels the weight in her limbs, remembers the feeling of waking up to find you're even less of yourself than you were before, feeling that life is nothing more than a lead coat you're not supposed to take off. 

But she's pulled out of her thoughts when Daisy says, "I wonder if it was like that for Lincoln."

Jemma looks up, blinking back at her friend.

"With his alcoholism, I mean," she explains, shifting in her seat, "it really weighed on him, you know? He'd been sober for so long, but it was still with him every day. He didn't have any choice but to deal with it the best he knew how."

Jemma wonders if she should say that there _was_ another choice, that there always _is_ another choice, the kind that's unthinkable until you're lower than you've ever been. Every day, every living person has the opportunity to destroy themselves. But you don't notice until everything becomes a fight. It's not until your own existence is an endless, hopeless slog that destruction looks a lot like rest.

Some days, the only victory is that you didn't give in.

"He was a hero," Jemma concludes, "not just in death, but in life. He stayed true until the end."

Daisy takes a shuddering breath. "It shouldn't have been the end."

"I know."

They sit there in silence as Jemma wonders what thoughts are running through Daisy's head. She doesn't know if she should stop them or let them run their course, if Daisy needs to work it out on her own the way Jemma did. She's been running from this for so long. 

"Is that it," Jemma asks when the silence has run too long, "the memory you'd give away?"

Daisy turns to her, wiping away a tear. "Lincoln?" She swallows, looking down. "No," she answers, and Jemma has never heard one syllable so heavy with guilt. "It's stupid, right? It hurts so much sometimes I think it's gonna break me, but I wouldn't give it up. Not for anything." 

Jemma shakes her head. "Not stupid at all."

"It's just," Daisy says, "he loved me, you know? After everything I did. After I became what he hated the most about himself. He still loved me after everything."

"We all loved you," Jemma says, "I mean—not that he didn't." She looks down at the hands clasped in her lap, hoping she hasn't stepped on Lincoln's legacy. "I understand why he loved you. So does Coulson, and May, and even Mack. And Fitz w—" She swallows, remembering the pain in his eyes, "Fitz would tell you . . ."

She doesn't actually know what Fitz would say. She just knows it would be kind enough and loving enough to astound them both.

"I know," says Daisy, reaching over to put a hand over Jemma's, "and I don't take that for granted, trust me. After what I did to him, and to Mack . . . everyone was better than I ever deserved them to be."

Jemma shakes her head. "But that's exactly what I'm trying to say! You _did_ deserve it! You deserve to have a boyfriend who loves you like Lincoln and a team that loves you the way we do. Not because you're a superhero, or because you're an agent, but because you're a person who loves other people."

She has a deep breath to calm herself, because this is why she couldn't sleep. These are the words Jemma needed to say.

Just, not to Daisy. 

And she's already said them to Fitz, so she's not exactly sure who her intended audience was supposed to be. But the look in Daisy's eyes tells her she picked the right person to say it to.

"Thanks," Daisy says, "really. Thanks for everything, for letting me come back to the team." She smiles, bumping her shoulder against Jemma's. "For letting me get blood all over your love nest. I was so afraid that you guys wouldn't take me back."

Jemma offers a lopsided smile. "No, you weren't." 

The smile Daisy offers in return fades all too quickly, and it suddenly occurs to Jemma that Daisy has never had a real home before. A bunker's not much of a home, as dark and distant as it is, but that's what they made of it. Daisy should have known that nothing she did would have stopped them from letting her back in.

But then, that's a lesson Jemma once had to learn herself.

"I _do_ have memories I'd like to give away," Daisy says. "kissing Ward, for example."

Jemma finds the thought absolutely nauseating, and Daisy's teasing grin fades all too soon. Her eyes betray it all—that there are some memories that keep her up at night, but Jemma suspects that they are not about Ward. If she could hazard a guess, she'd say the memories that hurt Daisy the most are the ones that come from manipulation mistaken for maternal affection. Jemma's heart breaks because she can't remember them for her.

"What about you?"

It takes a second for Jemma to realize that Daisy has asked her a question, and she scrambles to think of something. There's the day Daisy almost died, and the eternity Fitz spent in a coma. There's a thousand moments, really, big and small. Each of them comes back to bite her when her mind is not otherwise occupied. But, in the end, it's not hard for her to figure out which memory she'd delete from her brain. It's just hard to say it.

"It's the planet, isn't it?"

Jemma smiles despite herself. "Am I _that_ obvious?"

"Oh," Daisy says, waving it off, "not really. It's just that you spent six months stranded in a wasteland. Those aren't exactly the memories you'd want to keep."

Jemma sits there for a moment, taking in Daisy's words. She's had time, now, to sort through the things that have happened to her, to come out the other side. She can contrast those memories with the pain stretching across Fitz's face. She can see the reflection of herself in him.

"Not all of it," she says, ducking her head away from Daisy. "It was horrible, of course, but I learned a lot about myself. I had a lot of time to think about who I was and what I wanted in life." She sighs, because she knows she doesn't have to tell Daisy what her ultimate conclusion was; they both know the answer to every question is Fitz.

"What I _would_ like to forget is . . ." She takes in a deep breath and lets it out, trying to draw strength. "Will. Everything he said to me. Or most of it, at least." The words hurt to come out, like she's speaking for the first time in months. She feels Daisy's hand rub up and down her back, and she finds the courage to continue. "I didn't even realize it until recently. How hard it is to keep going when someone keeps telling you you'll fail. Sometimes I think—" Anger surges through her as she remembers the canyon that was wider than it was supposed to be. "Sometimes I think he wanted me to fail, because he didn't want me to leave him. He kept me there."

What she doesn't say is that the words Radcliffe's LMD said— _not good enough, not smart enough_ —were instantly familiar, since those same words had been rattling around in her head for months after she got back. What she doesn't say what that the words always came in Will's voice.

"I tried to make a little game of it. I tried to balance out his doom, but he just kept telling me that there was no point, and after a while I—he wore me down. And I didn't notice at the time, but how lucky was it that as soon as I lost hope, he was there to sweep me off my feet? To tell me, once again, that I never should have tried?" The tears come, warm and fierce, and the truth is that if she had a time machine, she wouldn't have stopped herself from getting eaten by the monolith. She would have gone back to that moment and told herself to keep fighting. "I kept telling myself that it wasn't his fault, that he'd been alone for so long by himself, and it was just natural to—but why did he have to do that to me? If he really loved me, why couldn't he have just—"

"Hey."

It's not until she has Daisy's arms around her that she realizes she's crying, the wound coming back just like Daisy's did. And even as Daisy whispers encouragement, it's Fitz's words— _the mistake was keeping the programming from you; you were the brain we needed on this_ —that are ringing through her head.

"I'm sorry, Simmons," Daisy says. "I didn't realize."

Jemma hopes her smile is brighter than how she feels, but she knows the chances are slim. "I didn't either, until I read the research Fitz dug up on him. Did you know he had a science background? Would have come in handy when I was trying to figure out a way home. But he lied to me, and I thought . . . for a while, I thought I actually loved him. So that's what I'd like to forget. All of that, and all the pain I put Fitz through. The rest, I can live with."

She feels like a dam just broke, that the pressure has been building and building until everything gave way. These are the things she can't talk to Fitz about, but Daisy understands guilt. She understands the ache of losing one's self. Jemma hopes Daisy also knows the freedom that comes from getting yourself back again, despite the pain that lingers.

"Do you ever just get angry about it?" Daisy asks, pursing her lips. "None of it had to happen that way. If you could go back and fix one thing, it would all be different. But it did happen, and even if you try to make a clean break, it just follows you."

Jemma would counter Daisy here, would say that there's hope on the horizon if it weren't for the fact that Fitz is alone in their bed, still fighting his battle in his dreams. A dragon can lie dormant for years before it decides to rage again. 

She looks down at her hands, then closes her eyes. "You have plenty of things to be angry about, but I hope you learn to let go of it. Especially the anger you have for yourself."

She speaks from experience, but she hopes it doesn't show. There are things she keeps from Fitz, yes, but there are a thousand other secrets that only he knows. And the greatest secret of all is when she was at her wit's end, when her guilt heated up into anger directed at him, at Will, at herself, she'd clung to Fitz for dear life. And in the end, he'd taken her hand and promised to never let go.

She grabs Daisy's hand and squeezes.

She guesses they both have things to be angry about, but they also have each other.

"There are consequence for forgetting, I think," Jemma says, nodding towards the book. The plot is hazy, but she remembers a boy raised without love who stole a baby to give him love. She remembers that a world without pain is also a world devoid of color. "The pain is hard, yes, but there's always something on the other side of it."

She watches the gears turn in Daisy's head and knows that Daisy has a dam of her own, one that's had pressure building for years and years and years. Jemma's ready when Daisy breaks, throwing an arm around Daisy's shoulder and pulling her close. Did Daisy have people like this in the Rising Tide? Did the nuns let their habits dry her tears? 

"I almost didn't come," Daisy says, and it's not until Jemma gives her a questioning glance that she continues. "I found the apartment, and I set it all up, but I didn't know what you were going to say to me, so I  . . ."

Jemma raises an eyebrow. "You what? Thought I'd let you bleed out?"

Daisy pulls out of Jemma's embrace and leans forward, burying her head in her hands.

"I don't know, I've never done that before. I kept telling myself that I didn't have anything to lose, and you already took an oath."

Jemma frowns. "You mean the Hippocratic Oath," she says. "Which ended up being irrelevant, really. I don't help my friends because I feel obligated."

"Yeah," says Daisy, "I guess I know that now. It's just that sometimes . . ."

"Sometimes you're worried that it'll be like all the other times," Jemma finishes, satisfied when Daisy nods in agreement. 

"You don't get second chances in foster care," Daisy explains. 

"But you did here," Jemma says, "after we found out about Miles."

Daisy shakes her head a she wipes away her tears. "I forgot about that. Seems like such a small thing now. Not like after terrigenesis."

Jemma purses her lips, telling herself that at least Fitz contributed some happiness to that memory.

"I mean," Jemma says to distract herself from her thoughts, "if we can accept you after you suddenly became dangerous enough to bring this whole base down, we can accept you after an evil man enslaves you to do his bidding."  

The light goes out of Daisy's eyes. "It wasn't that simple, Jemma. The things I did—" She squeezes her eyes shut. "I really am powerful to bring this base down. And after all you did for me, after all the times you forgave me when I screwed up, I stabbed you all in the back. All because some monster from another planet got me hooked on his . . ."

"Illusion of fulfillment?"

The words tumble out of Jemma's mouth, and it's always been a bad habit of hers, finishing other people's sentences. Now, seeing the pain radiating from Daisy, she wishes she hadn't said anything at all.

"I never thought I could hurt people that much."

"Daisy," Jemma soothes, "it only hurt because we care about you. It was hard to see you in so much pain."

Daisy sniffs, tears shining in her eyes. Her face is scrunched together in pain, and Jemma wishes that they didn't always have to go from one trauma to another. If they had space, if they had _time_ , they could sort this all out. Instead, they have to push down the pain and hope it will evaporate.

"There _are_ some things I wish you would forget," Jemma says. "Not anything that happened, just things that aren't true. You _do_ belong with us, we _do_ forgive you, and you _do_ deserve that forgiveness. You didn't do anything wrong, and you didn't lose my trust or anyone else's. Lincoln was a hero because he died protecting someone just as valuable as he was."  Jemma puts a hand on Daisy's knee. "None of us ever questioned that. We're lucky to have you back, Daisy. I feel a lot safer knowing that you'll be here the next time the world ends."

Her eyes are red, but at least Daisy's mouth is curling into something like a smile. 

"Is that how you pulled through?" asks Daisy. "You forgot about the lies?"

Jemma swallows, remembering the doubt that filled her veins.

"I don't know if I forgot them as much as . . . I replaced them. Even the most awful circumstances have a way of revealing truth. I felt so hopeless and broken when I came back, but in the end . . ."

"Fitz still loved you," says Daisy. Jemma takes in a breath and nods. There are few people, she thinks,who will ever be as blessed as she has been, who have experienced a truly unconditional love that runs that deep. There's something about that sort of love that can turn a heart into a flame.

"It was more than just that. Part of it was having something to fight for, I think. But after so many hopeless months, there was something electric about a man who told me all things are possible." She nods over at the book as the ending of it comes to mind. "The people who had the bad memories taken from them fought to get them back, you know. They believed that the whole truth was better than a censored version of it. It might be hard to confront that truth, but the alternative is even more horrifying."

Daisy sighs, then looks down at the book. "Yeah. I'd hate to live in a place like that. A place where nothing is real." She pauses, her lips twisting into something mischievous. "And I'm pretty sure there are no team karaoke nights."

Jemma winces at the thought. "That's not the first thing I'd bring back, but . . ."

"That's just because you are incapable of enjoying a rendition of 'Summer Loving' performed by a very drunk FitzSimmons. Honestly, it's what karaoke nights are made for. Actually, it's probably the meaning of life."

Jemma glares at Daisy, but ultimately relents. "It's unfortunate that the good stuff comes with the bad stuff, but I think that makes the good things in our lives all the more precious." She pauses, thinking of the troubled, wonderful man in her bed. "We do have a lot of good in our lives, Daisy. Despite everything." 

"Yeah," Daisy says, eyeing Jemma's yawn. "Thanks."

Jemma smiles. "Did it help at all?" 

Daisy takes a deep breath, blindly flipping through the pages of the book. "Yeah," she says. "I think so."

"Good," says Jemma. There's something satisfying about being of help, finding you can take some of the weight off your own chest in the process. And to think that when Jemma had come in here, her only goal had been a cup of—

"The kettle!"

Jemma jumps up from the couch and races over to the stove, seeing at once the billowing steam. She's not even sure there'll be water left to make a cup. She takes it off the heat and swishes it around, sighing audibly when she determines that there might be enough.

She frowns at it. "Why didn't it whistle?"

Daisy shrugs. "Maybe you need a new teapot?"

Jemma squints at it, utterly perplexed. "Maybe."

"Well," says Daisy, "your yawns are contagious. I'm turning in." She stands up, peering wearily over at Jemma. "You gonna be okay?"

Jemma waves it off. "Oh, I'll be fine. I'll just get myself some chamomile and turn in myself. And Daisy?"

"Yeah?"

She turns to look Daisy squarely in the eye. "Don't forget that you are surrounded by people who believe that you are limitless."

"I won't." Daisy says with a nod. "Good night."

Jemma returns the greeting and watches Daisy until she disappears, then returns to making her tea. If only it were always that easy. If only she could reach into Fitz's heart and make it whole. 

But, as she finishes her tea and pads her way back to her room, the silence of the base isn't as magical as it once was. There should be life here, she thinks. The hallways should be full of heroes working towards the cause of good. It will be soon, but she doesn't belong here in the emptiness. She belongs in a warm, secluded place with her grumpy, heroic engineer.

She sets her empty mug on the nightstand and slides under the covers, finding that Fitz is sleeping peacefully at last. Carefully, she scoots herself next to him and throws and arm over his torso, finding that the cares of the day fall from her shoulders as she curls up with the one she loves most. He is a precious man, this Fitz. After everything she's been through, the rise of his chest and the beat of his pulse are the greatest truths she's found.

He stirs a little, mumbling her name in his sleep, and as she drifts off, she smiles.

There are some things that she hopes she will never be able to forget.

**Author's Note:**

> Elsewhere is a place in The Giver outside of the rigid Community, where people are exposed to the pain, sorrow, and sickness of real life, but also find the freedom to experience its joys. It's also a reference to the otherworldly nature of empty spaces at night, and the overwhelming desire of a grieving heart to be anywhere but here.
> 
> I regularly post sneak peeks and general ramblings about my writing on [my tumblr](http://agent-85.tumblr.com/tagged/Writings%20of%20Agent%2085).


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